


what sprouts in spring

by Azzandra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dedue Week (Fire Emblem), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Parenthood, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: Dedue found a question springing from his mouth before the thought was even fully formed:"Would you like us to have a child together?"
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	what sprouts in spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of only two fics I managed to finish for Dedue Week, for the prompt Family/Tradition, and honestly this was the prompt that jumped at me most.

They rarely drew the curtains over their bedroom window at night. When one or the other would wake from a nightmare, there was nothing comforting about the pitch darkness; easier to remember that the war was three years ended when they could open their eyes to a slice of moonlight streaming in through the window and into the peace of their bedroom. At night, when nobody had any demands of them, the cold, white light was a balm to their nerves.

But Dedue never pulled the curtains closed for an additional, perhaps more selfish reason. In the summer months, when the sun rose early and bright, gilding every surface, Dedue liked to watch Dimitri before wakefulness encroached. Dimitri was not... the most graceful sleeper, with his hair mussed and his mouth hanging open, but that was a better look for him than even the most glorious crown. It was the sight of someone Dedue loved most in the world, resting as he deserved.

It also gave Dedue time to let his thoughts wander through tender places that seemed further out of reach outside this room. 

So it was that, one morning, when Dimitri blinked slowly awake, wiped his mouth, and gave Dedue the same besotted look he gave his husband each morning, Dedue found a question springing from his mouth before the thought was even fully formed:

"Would you like us to have a child together?"

Dimitri did not quite freeze in place, but he took a long moment to stare as though he was running the words over in his head. This was perhaps not a question Dedue should have posed only seconds into wakefulness, and he sat up in bed.

"Pardon," Dedue said, as he turned and his feet found the floor, "this is perhaps not the most appropriate time to ask--"

"Dedue, wait!" Dimitri said, his voice still rough with sleep. Surprisingly fast, he all but lunged to put his arms around Dedue's middle, holding him in place with deceptive gentleness as he placed a kiss just behind Dedue's ear. "Beloved, there isn't a more appropriate time than now, alone. Before anyone else has the opportunity to weigh in."

Dedue knew what Dimitri meant by anyone else: while the court had repressed the urge to demand heirs from Dimitri so far, it had been mostly because of the post-war reconstruction occupying such large tracts of their attention. But Dedue, for all that he ignored them, was not unaware of the looks boring into the back of his head from some of the more traditionalist nobles who saw him not as royal consort so much as an impediment to succession. A king's indulgence, to be put aside once the king saw more sense.

Likely, Dimitri could guess their unspoken words as much as Dedue, but they had never discussed it between them. Putting the situation into words would have made for a difficult conversation.

"But, er, we should talk about... how we are to... go... about this." Dimitri's voice betrayed the fact that he was likely turning redder and redder with each word, and his arms draped around Dedue's waist tightened unconsciously, but if Dimitri was so bent on conquering any awkwardness, Dedue could hardly do any less.

"There is something," Dedue spoke carefully, "that those who could not have children would do. An old Duscur magic."

Dimitri's breath caught, and Dedue's did as well in response, but when Dimitri exhaled softly and then nuzzled Dedue's hair, it felt as though they were breathing in time, hearts beating to the same rhythm, and Dedue read good omens in it.

"Tell me," Dimitri asked in a hush, the question just for them and not the kingdom stretched outside their door.

* * *

It went like this: first they made the doll.

It had to be made by the hands of the parent, or of all parents whose child it would soon be.

It did not have to be perfect, which Dimitri was relieved to learn. Mercedes had done her best to teach him sewing, and she had succeeded far beyond what anyone else might have managed, but the task being so important made Dimitri's fingers clumsier than they had been in years. Needles bent, scissors snapped under his grip, and his hands took to shaking more and more.

Dedue covered Dimitri's hands with his.

"Calm," he said, and kissed both of Dimitri's hands in turn. "Be as kind to yourself in this as you would be to a child trying to achieve the same thing."

"Is this part of the magic?" Dimitri asked, quirking a smile that vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

"Consider it practice for when the result is achieved," Dedue said. Then, because Dimitri still teetered on the edge of falling into self-loathing, "And think of what you teach by example. If a child thought themselves a failure beyond redemption for not achieving a task perfectly on the first try, would you simply allow them to hold that belief?"

"No!" Dimitri blurted out, looking revolted by the notion. He blinked slowly as understanding dawned on him. "...Ah. I see. Yes, you are right."

He looked to the fabric scraps in his lap, lips pressing together as he appraised the task.

"But as adults, shouldn't we do better at the same tasks than our children?" Dimitri asked.

"Children?" Dedue repeated mildly. "Plural?"

Charmingly, a blush rose up to tint Dimitri's ears.

"Ah-- Hm, well, you see..." Dimitri was well on his way to stuttering something when he noticed the smile crinkling the corners of Dedue's eyes. He huffed something almost like a laugh. "Clearly the child will be doomed to learn a sense of humor from you," he grumbled.

"Of course," Dedue agreed. "I am not raising our children on puns alone."

"Children," Dimitri muttered. "Plural." He was smiling too, but ducked his head back to the sewing in his lap, and hid it behind the curtain of his hair.

* * *

The second requirement, after the doll started to take shape, was to put a little of oneself in it.

Dedue cut a lock of his hair, and then Dimitri's, winding them together, silver and gold, until they were inextricably bound into a tight cord. This would be the seed from which a new heart would grow, and for the first time in the process, Dedue felt himself taking pause.

The doll was terribly small in his hand, lumpy with the scraps of fabric that filled it, and still incomplete where the seam along its chest had not been sewn shut yet. To be born was the end result of other people's choices, and Dedue, though not as prone to fits of inadequacy as Dimitri, wondered what he had to offer to this child that would outweigh all the pain that the world had in store.

Ought they wait until the prepared the way better for a child of half-Duscur heritage, so that they would not hear all the same hissed imprecations that Dedue had lived with his entire life? Was the peace they'd built lasting, or merely a lull before the world once again unleashed chaos and death upon them? Did they have the right to bring forth another child into a world already replete with orphans?

Dedue had always thought himself responsible for Dimitri's well-being, but if Dimitri had not already been a fully-formed person when they met, they had at least grown into each other until they were so used to fitting together that they felt incomplete when they were apart. To be responsible for someone as utterly reliant on him as a child would be... it suddenly filled Dedue with apprehension about the enormity of the concept.

Dimitri watched quietly as Dedue regarded the doll in his hands--so small that its length was less than Dedue's palm--and as though pulled in by the downturn in Dedue's thoughts, Dimitri reached out and gently stroked a thumb across Dedue's brow, as though smoothing it out.

"There will never be a perfect time," Dimitri said. "There will never be a perfect place. But I can think of no better time and place than when you are by my side. Whatever may come, I know we will face it together, and that is why I am not scared."

Dedue looked upon the cord of hair again, this small part of himself and Dimitri that a child would carry with them always. There was no sin or shortcoming in the luster of the hair. Just silver and gold tied together, bound together, offered like a promise: not wealth, not a kingdom, not a title; but as much safety as they could provide, and as much love as they had to give.

Slowly, Dedue nodded, and slipped the cord inside, and sewed the doll up.

* * *

The third requirement was the hole they dug in the back of the garden, a grave in reverse. 

The earth was cold and dark, and from it grew the water-hungry flowers of Faerghus, that slept in winter and wakened each spring anew. One day, perhaps they would dig into the loam of Duscur, where flowers bloomed all year and opened at night, but for now, for this time, they would sink their hopes into the black earth. There was not a place in the world that had never soaked up blood.

They dug with naked hands, and placed the doll as gently as though in a crib, staring at it where it lay for seconds far too long.

"I haven't thought of a name," Dimitri said, his voice edged with panic.

"It will come to you," Dedue said, promised, hoped.

Dimitri nodded stiffly, and then, as though he had never doubted at all, in one motion, he pulled the earth to blanket the doll. They patted down the dirt together.

* * *

After that was the waiting, breathless days turning into weeks, into the turn of a season. Fall turned to winter, and they might have forgotten all about the wait, if not for how they would look out the window to the gardens every day.

One day, after the snowbells began poking their heads through the snow, and delicate blades of grass began growing bold from the still-frosted earth, Dimitri stopped by the garden. 

It was yet too early in the year for anything to grow properly, but the garden had still sprouted something. Dimitri had his cloak bundled to his chest as he slipped into Dedue's office, looking flustered and at wit's end, but Dedue did not understand why until Dimitri approached, and a head of wild silver hair poked out from the fur.

"I still have not thought of a name," Dimitri said, caught up in some strange throes of panic.

But a pair of large blue eyes peered at Dedue from Dimitri's arms, the trusting, placid gaze of a child still unhurt by the world, and Dedue leaned forward to kiss the child's forehead.

"It will be fine," Dedue said. "Everything is perfect."


End file.
